


I'm Not Going Anywhere

by herondick



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herondick/pseuds/herondick
Summary: Alastair opens up to Thomas about Elias.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Cordelia Carstairs, Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood, Elias Carstairs/Alastair Carstairs
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	I'm Not Going Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: all characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

“Father?” Alastair called out. He was walking down a long, dark hallway. There were pieces of paper floating around him. After a closer look, he realized they were pieces of family photos. They had been ripped and were now falling like ash. The walls around him were black and seemed to be oozing something. Alastair wondered if it was blood.

The hallway seemed to be never ending. Alastair walked and walked, his footsteps echoing. After what seemed like an eternity, he saw a light at the end of the hallway. As Alastair got closer, the light allowed him to see that the floor was covered in empty liquor bottles. Even the air had started to smell like stale liquor.

The light, Alastair realized, was actually a room. He scanned his eyes all around as he entered. The only piece of furniture in the room was a single daybed. It was covered in plain white sheets and blankets. There was a person lying on it who appeared to be sleeping. The person was turned away from Alastair, so he couldn’t make out anything in particular about the person’s features, other than the fact they had blonde hair.

Cautiously, Alastair approached. “I’m sorry to disturb your sleep, but have you seen my father? I can’t find him.” Alastair couldn’t hide the worry any his voice. He was slightly embarrassed by how much he sounded like a child. The person didn’t move. Alastair walked over and put a hand on their shoulder, moving them so he could see their face. A violent gasp ripped through Alastair’s body.

It was his father. He was pale, with dark blue shadows under his eyes. His face was sunken in, his cheekbones standing out sickly on his face. Alastair barely noticed that he had been lying in a pool of his own vomit.

“Father, wake up!” Alastair roughly shook his father’s shoulders. He didn’t move. “Father, please! Please wake up!” Alastair put his hands on his father’s chest and felt nothing. No breathing. No heartbeat.

Alastair dropped to his knees. The room started melting away. He watched in helpless horror as his father melted with it, slowly disappearing into an unknown abyss. Alastair screamed and screamed. “Father! No! Please don’t leave me! Papa!” His screams turned into racking sobs. He put his face in his hands, feeling like his chest was being ripped open, his heart breaking into a million pieces.

Don’t leave us.

——

Alastair woke gasping for air. He wasn’t in the melting room where he had watching his father disappear in front of him. He was at home, in his bed.

There was still some sunlight pouring in through his window. Alastair had laid down earlier, meaning to take a small nap. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately. His mind was constantly being filled with thoughts about his father coming home. About Cordelia’s engagement to James. And Thomas Lightwood.

Alastair sat up slowly, still trying to recover from his dream. He couldn’t get the image of his father being ripped away from him out of his head. Since he was a child, Alastair had carried the burden of his father’s addiction. He had done anything he could to shield those he loved from it, especially Cordelia. He thought he had done a great job, considering the circumstances. Until recently, Cordelia had no knowledge of any of it.

Despite it all, though, Alastair had always dealt with the fear that, one day, his father would lose his battle with the bottle. He had always, deep down, prepared himself for the day when he had to tell Cordelia that their father was dead, that he had drank himself to death.

A soft knock on the door pulled Alastair from his thoughts. “Come in,” he called out. He was expecting his mother or sister. He even expected bloody James to walk in before he expected to see who it actually was: Thomas.

Thomas poked his head through the door, his expression full of slight concern. “Alastair? Are you alright?” His voice was tight, almost like he would rather be anywhere but in Alastair’s doorway. He was dressed in normal shirtsleeves and trousers.

Alastair’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing here, Lightwood?” Alastair softened his voice at the look of hurt on Thomas’s handsome face. “I mean, why are you at my house?”

Thomas stepped more into the room so he could close the door a little. “I came with James,” he said. “He needed to talk to Cordelia about wedding stuff and asked if I wanted to tag along.” He shrugged. “I’ve been inside all day, so I figured it would be nice to get out for a bit.”

Alastair expelled a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “At what point in your visit did you think it would be a great idea to knock on my bedroom door?” He looked at Thomas through slit eyes.

Thomas flushed red, darting his eyes away from Alastair. “You called out. I wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.”

At that, Alastair was genuinely shocked. Had he called out? He knew his dream had been realistic, but he hadn’t called out since he was a child. “Called out?” He asked, trying to keep his voice even. “For whom?”

Thomas looked dreadfully uncomfortable as he said, “Your father. You were calling for your father.”

It was Alastair’s turn to flush red. He felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment as he put his head down. He knew that the news of his father’s addiction had spread. He knew that most of the London Shadowhunters knew. But now that someone was bringing it up, especially Thomas, Alastair suddenly felt small and helpless. Much like he had felt in his dream. “It was a dream, that’s all.”

“Must have been quite a dream,” Thomas said. He looked at the door. “Look, Carstairs. I know some unfortunate things happened between us. There’s a small part of me that believes you are much better than what you let on. I know what you said about my father and Charlotte, and maybe one day I will forgive you for it,” he stopped then to catch his breath. “What I’m trying to say, though I’m failing miserably, is that if you need to talk to someone... I’m not going anywhere.”

Alastair was speechless. He had thought about many ways to apologize to Thomas, though he had never followed through with any of them. Through it all, he had never expected Thomas to actually forgive him. Though this couldn’t be classified as forgiveness, Alastair realized it was as close as he was probably going to get. Finally, he said, “Why? You told me to never speak to you again.”

Thomas turned away from the door and looked at him directly. “Because when we were working together, for the cure, you helped me with my grief about Barbara. I’m not saying this means we’re friends, I’m just giving you the opportunity to talk about whatever is bothering you.” He swallowed, and Alastair watched in fascination as his elegant throat moved. “Nothing you say will leave this room.”

Alastair wanted more than anything to be strong. He wanted to tell Thomas that he was alright and that he didn’t need him. But Alastair’s desire to be able to talk to Thomas again was stronger. He nodded. “Fine.”

Thomas closed the door completely and walked to the bed. He sat down, and Alastair felt the bed move under his gigantic frame. He fought the urge to lay his head on Thomas’s shoulder. “Alright. Talk.”

Alastair talked and talked. He confided to Thomas about everything he had witnessed with his father. He told him about how he had done everything he could to shield Cordelia. He talked about how, at the young age of five, he had been the one to fetch his father more whiskey or gin. He even started crying. He felt the warm tears drip down his cheeks as he told Thomas about his loss of childhood and innocence.

Thomas listened. He never stopped to interrupt. He would only ask, “Are you alright?” at random intervals when Alastair was having a hard time catching his breath between sobs. His eyes were steady, sometimes clouding over with sadness as he listened to Alastair, but he would quickly compose himself. Thomas was so enveloped in the story that when James had come up to tell them they were leaving, Thomas had stayed.

“I’ll find another way home. I’ll walk if I have to. I’m helping Alastair with something,” he had said. He had ignored James’s look of shocked confusion as he closed the door in his face. He had sat back down on the bed and continued to listen to Alastair talk.

A while later, after Alastair had stopped crying, the two sat in silence for a bit. Finally, Alastair spoke up. “Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry for burdening you with all that.”

Thomas smiled shyly. “You’re very welcome. It does no one any good to hold everything in.” He paused then, looking out the window. “You’re a very strong person, Alastair. You’ve endured something that not many people could. Give yourself a little credit.”

Alastair didn’t know how to respond to this. He sat quietly, picking at his blanket with his fingers. At last, he said again, “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

“I should get going. I was expected to be back already,” he said as he stood from the bed.

Alastair watched him. “So back to hating each other tomorrow?” He heard the strain in his own voice.

Thomas rolled his eyes and expelled a breath. “I don’t hate you. Like I said, I believe one day I’ll be able to forgive you. Until then, just give me time.” He made his way to the door. He opened it, the light from the hallway turning his normally brown hair to a copper color. Alastair felt his heart skip a beat as Thomas said, “Get some rest, Alastair. I’ll see you around.” He turned and walked through the door, closing it behind him.

Alastair sat in the quiet of his bedroom, alone once again. He focused on steadying his breathing and heart. It had become hot in his bedroom, so he walked to the window and threw it open. He sat there for a moment and looked at the street below. In the distance, he saw Thomas walking away, his large form casting shadows onto the cobblestones below.

“Just give me time,” Alastair recalled him saying. With a final look, he walked away from the window and crawled back into bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
